How Reluctant Is The Hero?
by NoSecretsHere
Summary: "If you're here to tell me that I'm supposed to save the world, is there any way I could pass on that? I mean, I don't want anyone to die, necessarily, but really don't want to go through that."


Author's Note: I have returned from my hiatus, while I am unsure if I will be regulary posting stories, I am excited to be back into the fray.

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Prompt: "If you're here to tell me that I'm supposed to save the world, is there any way I could pass on that? I mean, I don't want anyone to die, necessarily, but really don't want to go through that."

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How Reluctant is the Hero?

The freezing temperature felt all the more cold as the harsh winds prickled his skin. How very clice it was of him to be sitting in the courtyard of Hogwarts in the bitter winter. He was no better than an over emotional Hufflepuff. Time had fallen to the background in his mind, the passing minutes and hours no different than the fluffs of snow continuously falling to the ground.

He was no killer.

He was no killer, and it was that fact that had had him waiting for Potter outside the Gryffindor common room. For years to come he would deny how badly his hands had shaked and how desperate he had been for Potter to let him finish his rambling speech. In his memories, the moment he turned himself over to the Order of the Phoenix would be one of pride. A strong confident good moraled man his memory self would be, doing his best to stop the end of his world, not a scared almost grown boy too terrified to face his own family.

The snow continued to fall, and Draco continued to avoid returning to his common room. His housemates would not hate him- no they could never hate the boy they had grown up with- they would be as bitter and scared as he was. Now, with him a traitor in the opinion of the Dark Lord, the task would fall to them. Soon, they would be forced out of their make believe world where they pretended that war was nothing more than an unfulfilled promise. He would be making one of them him.

No other Slytherin's would follow in his path, all too scared to join a side that could still lose. Slytherin's self first attitude was not out of ambition more often than not. It was usually out of pure cowardice.

He wondered if he had not been full of such misplaced pride, if the sorting hat would have placed him in Gryffindor. He was no fool hearted jumper into the unknown, but he was braver than any of his housemates and family. Stupid too. What a great Gryffindor he would have been, he thought, a bitter taste in his mouth.

"It's cold, Malfoy, you should go inside,"

Draco snorted, of all the people to walk in on the sea of self-pitying he was drowning himself, it would be the one who had started it all.

"If you're here to tell me that I'm supposed to save the world, is there any way I could pass on that? I mean, I don't want anyone to die, necessarily, but really don't want to go through that," he drawled, not turning around to face her.

He could feel the warmth of his body behind him and then beside him, as she came to sit beside him on the edge of the frozen fountain. Her gloved hands were in a constant state of rubbing, and Draco stared down at his own unmoving nearly frozen digits and wondered if frostbite could be easily reversed.

"No need to save the world, Malfoy. You should be more concerned about saving the frozen toes you seem to be so stubborn on losing," she replied in the same obnoxious tone he had heard repeatedly in class over the years.

Draco watched as Hermione pulled out her wand from her coat pocket, moments later warmth filled his body. Wandless magic, how impressive. He decided not to repeat his sarcastic comment to her, knowing she would probably take off the spell she had cast, forcing him once again to feel the cold.

They sat in silence, Hogwarts silent around them. Most of the students would be in the warmth of their common rooms or finding warmth within each other in hidden alcoves. No doubt Pansy would be one of the latter, enjoying her time with Theodore Nott while she still had the chance to be a teenage girl. He felt no sadness over the inevitable loss of their prearranged engagement. The woman would be a harpy of a wife.

"Weasley still spewing my praises?" Draco finally asked.

His hand instinctively went to his forehead where a bruise had been healed hours earlier. As would be expected the Weasel had been a savage, not even bothering with a wand when he attacked him for evil plots he assumed Draco was planning. His only consolation was that Weasley also had a bruise. Leftover from a powerful stinging hex that came from the same wand that had just stopped him from freezing.

Hermione groaned next to him, burrowing her face into her hands. Her wild mass of curls went everywhere, a few strands poking him in the eye.

"Ronald," she said the word like she would say the name Millicent "has been conformed to his dormitory and should be expecting a howler from his embarrassed mother tomorrow."

A small smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

He hoped it would be a very public howler.

"That was a decent stinging hex you threw, Granger," he managed to say without laughing.

"Decent?! I saved your arse Malfoy. You should be singing my praises. You should be showering me with gifts," Hermione sputtered, her face turning red with indignation despite the cold.

He couldn't hold back his laugh then. It all seemed so ridiculous then. He, Draco Malfoy, sole heir to one of the oldest fortunes in Europe had to have had his face saved by the girl he bullied mercilessly throughout their adolescence. All because he had decided to betray his entire family and belief system and join the side of his arch nemesis.

Hermione stared at him with her mouth wide open. As his laugh grew quiet, leaving them in silence once again, she smiled at him. It was a smile he had never been on the receiving end of. A large grin that took up the majority of her face, even crinkling her upturned nose.

"I don't think I've ever heard you really laugh, Malfoy. I didn't think it was possible," the joking in her tone, stopped him from becoming defensive.

'The cold is obviously getting to me, Granger," Draco scoffed.

He stood up, brushing off snow from his black pants. He stood out against the snow, a pillar of all black in a world dusted in white. Faint giggles could be heard from the within the castle walls, probably one half of the couples trying to find an alcove. He snorted to himself, not caring how low class it was. His father would never be able to punish him for it again. If Potter won the war that was.

"Are you ready?" Hermione asked, standing up beside him.

Draco carefully studied her, looking for any trace of the pity he had come to despise. She could have meant anything. If he was ready to return to the castle, ready to face his friends, ready to spend the winter holiday at the Weasley hovel under the protection of the Order or the Phoenix. All the things that he would lose because of his one heroic act. No wonder Gryffindor's got killed so often once they left school- they held a hero complex like no other.

"I don't know. Granger, I don't know." he told her honestly.

A warm hand closed around his, sending a jolt through him. He tried his best to gape. Hermione Granger, the know-it-all soon to be wife of the Weasel, was holding his hand. The girl in question didn't blush or remove her hand when he looked at her. She just stared at him with a gaze full of a hundred emotion, none of which he noticed as pity.

"Will you be staying with the Weasley's' for the holiday?" Draco found himself asking, his gaze back at their clasped hands.

"Most likely," Hermione said, a small smile showing how pleased she was of the question.

"All the better I suppose. I'll need a bodyguard to keep the Weasel far away from my face. This face is practically a family heirloom you know," he muttered, pulling her by the hand toward the castle.

"I am not your bodyguard, Malfoy!" Hermione protested.

"Are you joking, Granger? I've been on the receiving end of that right hook of yours. Forget the ministry, you could be a bodyguard," Draco told her.

Their voices carried into the castle, their tone as light as the feel of the falling snow they had left behind. Hogwarts castle sat, grand even when it's towers were covered in piles of snow. Both the castle and it's inhabitants seemed to stand a little taller that winter, all preparing for the war they knew was coming.

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Author's Note: Please take the time to review. I enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as well. Thank you for reading!


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